


Behind the eyes

by HikariYumi



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Emotions, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Introspection, No Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, No Plot/Plotless, Persona 5 Spoilers, Phantom Thieves of Hearts as Family, References to Depression, Sadness, The Author Regrets Everything, essentially the whole games plot points are referenced, referenced police brutality, self-indulgence, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:28:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25688842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HikariYumi/pseuds/HikariYumi
Summary: The year of the Phantom Thieves is a rather draining one. Akira tries to deal with everything that fate throws at him and it works. More or less.In other words, as Akira’s world keeps trembling underneath his feet and he can’t cry.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren & Phantom Thieves of Hearts, Kurusu Akira & Phantom Thieves of Hearts, Persona 5 Protagonist & Phantom Thieves of Hearts
Comments: 3
Kudos: 79





	Behind the eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello :)
> 
> Fair warning this thing, is a vent fic. It is completely self-indulgent and the result of me coping (TM). I write this thing in like an hour. Just write with no thoughts.  
> The writing style is erratic (half on purpose, half cause that’s how my brain works when unchecked) and might be considered bad. So yeah, be warned.
> 
> Also, Akira’s role as a silent protagonist is to be the players mirror so I abuse this in my favour. Poor boy, as if he hasn’t been through enough.
> 
> There are no spoilers for Royal at all.. cause I dunno, I’m too used to the Vanilla canon I guess.
> 
> Anyway Akira is a sad, depressed and depressed boy with way too much responsibilities on his shoulders.
> 
> Oh, I’m no native speaker and this thing isn’t beta read. And right now my brain is so fried it’s rather useless. I might correct mistakes at a later date.
> 
> If you’re still planning to read this, thank you.  
> ~Hikari

Akira was aware that a lot of people found him weird, he’d grown used to that. He wasn’t sure when it had started, both the odd looks and his behaviour, but by now it had become a part of him.

A lot of people did seek him out for his tendency to be exactly what they needed in the moment - and Akira didn’t mind, in fact he encouraged it. Helping people was his second nature and some part of him craved it.

When there was no need to mirror someone Akira defaulted to polite calmness, something society seemed to approve of. It felt natural and comfortable by now, at least most of the time.  
It helped not to make brash decisions, to stay level-headed during a crisis and of course its aftermath.

It was clean, easy and appropriate.  
Except when it wasn’t.

Akira hadn’t cried in a long time. Obviously not thanks to a lack of reasons or trying. After his first arrest, when it seemed that his future was over and he was forced to drop out of school, Akira sat in his bed, head in his hands waiting for tears to come. They never did.  
So he had gotten up, taken a deep breath and kept going.

Something deep inside Akira remembered that crying was relieving, that it helped to let out the overwhelming emotion. He wished to try it again, but whenever he laid in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, attempting to force out the tears nothing happened.  
Akira moves on.

Kamoshida threatened time expel them. There wouldn’t be a third chance for Akira, this was the end of the rope. He had failed.  
Akira walked through the school where everyone talked about him, returned to the place he was allowed to stay in for this year, passed by the man who saw him as a burden but put up with him anyway and stood in the middle of the dusty attic.

Morgana talked to him, voice indignant but distant.  
Akira felt rooted to the spot, cold and numb. Behind his eyes he felt the tears that didn’t fall.  
Akira moves on.

It was some cruel joke, that Kaneshiro’s threat was more or less a repeat from Kamoshida. But now it wasn’t just Ryuji and him, but Makoto, Ann and Yusuke as well. The stakes were higher, so much higher. But they all trusted it would be alright, trusted Akira.  
Akira thought that was a really wrong decision. But no one paid that any mind. 

Akira’s hands were trembling so he tightened them around the book he was pretending to read. It told an interesting story, grand and uplifting with a lot of funny remarks - Ryuji would enjoy it. It made Akira’s throat close up, strain behind his eyes as they began to water.  
No not here, not now. The café might’ve closed up for the day but Sojiro was still in the tiny kitchen and Morgana was dozing next to him.

Later tonight, when Yongen-Jaya was blanketed in darkness, then he could let it out. Get it out of his system.

Morgana snored quietly in the darkness of the nights late hours but Akira lay awake, unable to sleep, too tense to let himself go.  
He felt like he was bursting, too much emotion balled up too tightly. Akira desperately tried to release them, but something resisted.  
So Akira took a shaky breath and grabbed his phone to pass the time until morning.

Futaba’s palace felt raw and left Akira worked up in a way he didn’t know how to deal with. Futaba wasn’t okay, and maybe wouldn’t be for a while.  
Akira put away his doubts and fear and planned with his friends how to help the girl.

Slowly but surely Futaba recovered, not completely but enough to take everyone’s breath away, enough to make everyone proud. Futaba still wasn’t okay, but she was happy.  
Akira was in awe. He would do everything to support her road to steal back her life.  
He wondered if Futaba cried at night.

Akechi didn’t cry. He showed the same placid politeness that Akira wore every day. Occasionally he let emotions bleed through, emphasising that Akechi was upset about his past. Then the smile was back.  
Akira wondered if they were similar.  
Akira also wondered how to learn to control emotions like this.  
Maybe they could learn from each other.

Akechi’s betrayal should’ve hurt more than it did. Ironically, knowing that his cognitive version was shot in the head was the most pleasant part of Akira’s day.

Down there in the underground interrogation room, out of the public’s eye he had been beaten and drugged and shown how weak he was. It hurt, but not as much as Akira had anticipated it during the planning.

The drugs clouded his mind, confused him but Akira’s tongue felt looser than ever before. As the words tumbled out of his mouth he felt exposed and vulnerable like a nerve. He couldn’t remember why he was here, his brain lagged behind tongue and his tale sounded strange and disconnected from Akira’s self.

Akira felt like he could cry now, the urge was there, floating a round in his brain along with thoughts that didn’t feel like his own.  
But the prosecutor kept stressing that there wasn’t time. So Akira let his mouth fork more words, hoping that he could leave this place soon.

Everything hurt and Akira didn’t feel like his body was his own. Morgana asked if he needed something. Akira didn’t know.  
Everyone else had left, the Thieves would meet up tomorrow.  
The darkness felt oppressive but at the same time it allowed Akira to hide away from reality. Wordlessly Morgana rolled up on his stomach. It helped, a bit. He felt less like he was flying a way, more tethered to the bed he started to call his own.

Akira did not sleep that night, he kept his breathing even to not disturb Morgana.  
In the morning he was able to resume his calm mask.  
Akira wondered if Akechi had ever trouble putting on his own smile.

Even after Masayoshi Shido’s fall the wrongs weren’t righted. By the time they reached the Holy Grail Akira felt spread thin. He worried that if he let his control slip for only a second, Joker would slide away leaving his team with one less fighter.  
That couldn’t happen, not right now.  
So Akira took a deep breath and pushed away gnawing fear and dread. They didn’t have time. Not right now.

On Christmas Eve he shot a god in the head after he broke free the chains around his soul.  
Why did Akira still feel so full and empty at the same time. With Satanael behind him he could breath easier for a second, for a moment the faith put upon his shoulders furled Akira’s Power instead of his doubts.  
Then it passed, disintegrated along with reality around them.

Juvenile Hall was not as terrifying as Akira expected. It wouldn’t even be half bad if they wouldn’t let him alone with his thoughts for so long.  
Akira was no stranger to being alone, but lately, after this year full of stressful anxiety? Now quiet minutes were the most upsetting, being forced to analyse Akira’s every step, every word, every failure. 

The days bled together and Akira laid on his cot, more comfortable than the one in the Velvet Room, and held on.  
He didn’t know what for.  
There wasn’t a reason to keep a tight hold on himself anymore, no one was here to see him. 

But.

But after so long Akira wasn’t sure how not to push away, how to allow himself to feel the pain.

His friends and confidants pulled him out of his cell and back to Tokyo.  
One month later the return to his hometown draw closer.  
Akira knew he was supposed to feel something, that the nausea he felt at the prospect was a sign that he indeed did. But Akira could only smile as he said good bye to his friends and Sojiro and walked out of Yongen for maybe the last time.

A road trip home. A way to draw out the unavoidable. A brief reprise.  
Akira heard his soul scream, all around the part where Arsene used to sit. It must’ve screamed for a long time already.

Jammed tightly between his friends, Morgana proudly in his lap, something happened.  
Like a rubber band snapped after being pulled tight for too long, brittle from use, Akira’s breath hitched.

When the first tears fell, harbingers of emotions repressed for too long, Akira couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening.  
It were his friends who talked, asked and fussed over him.  
Akira just sat and let it happen, raw and hurting, but so, so much lighter than before.

His tears didn’t stop for a long while. They only dried by the time everyone had settled down for the night, gently speaking to him, keeping Akira close.  
Something in him had broken, something he had so tried hard to keep together. It felt good in a strange way, even as his throat was dry and his eyes were itchy.  
Akira had let go, not voluntarily per se, but nothing had happened. 

It felt too good to be true.  
Akira laid in his makeshift bed that night, breathing deeply and more freely than in too many months. The strain behind his eyes, the tension he never consciously realised had lifted.  
He didn’t feel okay, but he felt happy in a way.

Akira looked at his friends and thought of Akechi. Eventually everyone had to let go, if they anted or not.  
Akira had been so lucky at last.  
So lucky in a world of misfortune and ruin.

Akira slept, surrounded by his loved ones, finally free.


End file.
